Asymptote Theory
by ksuzu
Summary: Kushina's popularity needs a boost. Minato wants the geek vote for student government president. And prom is just a week away. You know this story, right? Wrong. Dead wrong. [Told in teen-y pieces]
1. Vlog 00

Summary: Kushina's popularity needs a boost. Minato wants the geek vote for student government President. And Prom is just a week away. You know this story already, right?

Aka, a trashy, self indulgent fic. With a twist. I think. No offense intended to skanky ladies, the caste system or any other allusions made in this fic. Take everything with a pinch of satire, for now.

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 **Asymptote Theory**

 _\- prologue -_

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 **Vlog: 00**

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Here are the facts about the world, as commonly acknowledged by the 1452 students of the Konoha Valley High School.

(1453 if you counted a burnout like Nara who is, really, never going to graduate without some serious divine intervention.)

There is no social caste system in Konoha, because, gracious, that would be just wrong in the 21st century. And also, because it would look really bad on Principle Senju's (everyone called her Tsunade-hime) report to the regional superintendant.

But the students know a little better.

Once you're born into the world (aka, the first day of freshman orientation), you're sorted into your rightful rung on the social pyramid.

All castes—oops—all _interest groups_ are made equal.

That is a fact.

Some groups are more equal than others.

That is _also_ a fact.

Generally, those two facts make sense together because one group is simply blessed by a Higher Divine power with better clothes, better muscles, better aptitude for beer pong, etc. You get the picture?

Now, Konoha's social ladder is very hard to climb as a girl, because the girls of the Kunai Ladies (one of them has a predilection for reruns of Beverly Hills Ninja, another for Grease) regularly oil the rungs with their constant plastic makeovers (twice a month, varies). And by oiling the rungs, we mean that other girls who get too far usually end up transferring schools. Conversely, the social ladder is really easy to climb as a guy, but not every guy is cut out to do it.

Guys like Namikaze Minato, for example, whose cheekbones finally came in during ninth grade three years ago, didn't just CLIMB the social ladder, that boy TELEPORTED up.

More unfortunate souls like Maito Gai, with thick eyebrows and an even thicker layer of social-awkwardness-aura, is a new freshman. One look at him and you know he's probably gonna hover around the bottom no matter how good he is in Phys. Ed. class.

Let's dig a little deeper into the social weave at Konoha, shall we?

Wait. What?

My name?

That's a secret I'll never tell.

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Okay, _okay,_ don't leave.

You got me.

I'm one of the Hyuga in school. Yes, okay, I know we have creepy eyes. Oy! I'm not going to tell you my first name—because that would just ruin all the fun, right? I don't serve as this school's top gossip mud-raker for nothing you know. My eyes see all, know all.

 _Now scram, freshman!_

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	2. What's the Story, Morning Glory?

Notes: I played with some ages of characters. Also, some chaps will be full-length, some shorter and in this format. Besides just my busy-ness, I hope the reason will become apparent later.

Also, any guesses on the characters behind the initials? If they're confusing, someone holler!

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 **Asymptote Theory**

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 _\- What's the story, morning glory? -_

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 **Tweet 01**

Spotted: K.H. on a bike tailed by G.M., running. But what else is new with a new school semester?

 **Tweet 02**

Spotted: C.A. stealing money from a vending machine and S.N. sleeping in the computer lab. Rise and shine for class, children.

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"Don't wave your toothpaste at me."

One bushy-haired, bleary-eyed, no-good uncle raises a fuzzy white eyebrow, before mashing the toothpaste stick under his nephew's nose.

"Why not? Can't handle it?"

He can't. As much as Namikaze Minato—peer tutor, football starter, high school senior council representative—wants to dismiss the embarrassing facts, in all his eighteen years, he can use nothing but fruity toothpastes like banana or cherry because the normal stuff that all sane people used, like mint, burns his mouth like hydrochloric acid out of a tube.

Uncle Jiraiya does an embarrassingly middle-aged dance around the bathroom, revealing under his pinstriped pajama collar an icy-hot patch peeking from his neck. Minato shudders, and doesn't think further on why that's there.

"Big day, yeah? Think they missed you?" his uncle waves around his tube once more, grunting as Minato shrugged, then refocuses intently on the teen's outfit.

"Just one thing, boy. You're not wearing _that._ "

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 **Tweet 03**

Spotted: I.Y. womanizing on the tennis courts. Groupie behavior predicted. PSA to stay away from the grounds until end of first session.

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There's no need to repeat the same story. You know how this goes. A grouchy red-haired creature trudges her GAP dark wash jeans ass down to the principal's office, and gets lost along the way. So she wanders the grounds from the outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of very large double-doors that lead to the main office or something.

At this point, perhaps you're expecting some sort of high school Messiah with a capital M to pop up and whisk her off her feet. Maybe slam into her and offer most ardent apologies. Cue rom-com music.

But you forget. Inoichi Yamanaka is playing doubles tennis today, and he's that pesky, annoying minor-boss-gatekeeper-guy who quite literally guards the net around the school's cooler social circles. He's weird though. He has weird hazing practices.

An errant (maybe not) tennis ball rolls to the girl's feet.

Ah. She's wearing Converse hightops. How quaint. How girl-next-door.

"Oy!"

Her face morphs into a scowl as she sees the group of girls at the fence part like the sea and glare back. Like a curtain, they reveal a fairly attractive blonde in a frighteningly white tennis ensemble wave cheerfully at her.

"Yeah, you! Throw it back, babe?"

Oh. The other girls' glares predictably intensify, and the redhead gives a half-hearted kick to the furry green ball and trudges on, toward what she thinks must be the front doors, and thus lead to the principal's office.

This is the new girl. New girls have it hard.

But you already knew that.

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 **Tweet 04**

Spotted: M.N. making his grand re-entrance down the causeway into the central nervous system of the school. JUST REMEMBER. YOU HEARD IT FROM US FIRST.

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 **KLBlog**

Kunai Ladies here! Score one up for us. We told you Mr. Right would show up for his last year with us! You think he'd really ditch us for college that fast? No way! Why pass up a good opportunity to rule the school? (We'd be _more_ than happy to be queen consort.)

Red alert on the freshmen girls this year. Some of them, especially those lurking out on the tennis courts, have _no_ class. Remind us to put them in their place a little later, m'kay? We have to catch up with Mi-na-to first.

We hear someone on the current football team's out to say 'welcome back' with fists, and we want front row seats. Who doesn't love a little bloodlust? We have faith in our man.

XOXO

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	3. No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

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 **Asymptote Theory**

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 _\- No good deed goes unpunished. -_

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 **Tweet 04**

Spotted: M.N. making his grand re-entrance down the causeway into the central nervous system of Konoha High. YOU HEARD IT FROM US FIRST.

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What? Over there? Yeah, that's Minato Namikaze. Yeah, stop gushing. We know he's pretty. We get it, okay? HEY. Stop drooling on my notebook.

You have more important things to be doing, freshman. For one, running for your life. You know what time it is. There's a war a'brewin'. Don't believe me?

Sniff the air. _Bloodlust._

No one at Konoha was happier when Golden Boy took the last semester off than one particular individual. Oh, I don't know… think, teammate? Old second string? Promoted to quarterback after Namikaze left?

Right, so… bloodlust. Get your umbrella ready. We hear Minato lost a few pounds. And Jirobo gained some.

This brawl's not gonna be pretty.

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There's that feeling you get, a slight tingle down your spine, relaxing you, easing you through the easily most boring twenty minutes of your day. You blank out, blissfully, eyes still open, mouth appropriately shut (though it's hard). The vice-principal drones on.

Twenty-five minutes pass. The vice-principal stops. Kushina smiles. She says something she hopes is appropriate. The woman, who is five foot two and exactly five inches taller in her stiletto heels, gives a troubled little cough.

"You appear to have a verbal impairment of sorts. Is English your first language? We're a private school, but we offer ESL courses if you need."

"No 'ttebane," she stutters, then tries again. "I mean, no dat—" _and commence holding breath!_ _One. Two. Three. Four… whew, it passed._

Despite the morning's hiccups, Kushina's thankful to every deity she knows when her aunt and uncle had acquiesced and let her come to this school. Her parents are still back at her village in the countryside, by the sea, where life's quiet and people reasonable. The people here, from what she can see so far, are bad reincarnations of some high school teen movie.

Still, Kushina is here to fulfill her dream. If it involves a few sacrifices along the way, that's fine.

Sacrifice number one was the friends she'd left. Sacrifice two was putting up with the unfamiliar Konoha county, an affluent, metropolitan district that she's only heard stories about ("The Village", locals call it, like it's the only village in existence or something). Sacrifice three seems to be putting up with the strange niceties of the school staff.

The vice-principal pushes a little button on the intercom.

"I'm sure you'll get used to things in due time. I've arranged for a tour guide around the school. Minato's the model student in the entire grade, no, the entire _school_."

Kushina adds this to the growing pile of banalities about this place. Maybe this Minato would be a _cute_ boy, and they'll fall in love or something. Tralalala.

 _Gag._ Gag her now, please.

But this is real life. Prince Charming—in the form of a frog or not—never turns up.

Kushina is instead allowed to wander the school with just a map, weaving through thickening cords of people as the other students seem increasingly in a hurry to get someplace. She makes out a brief waft of food, likely the cafeteria. Seeing there's still fifteen minutes left until the start of her first class, she decides to follow her nose.

 _'They don't call it a proverbial watering hole for nothing.'_

So the flood of people _have_ been coalescing toward the cafeteria. Here, Konoha High's occupants are clustered like colorful plumaged birds, in multitudes of shapes, sizes, and mating calls of choice.

Kushina winces at a group of blindingly pink girls who seem to be jostling everyone else away from the center of the cafeteria's eating tables. A few feet away, some other kids are working on what Kushina can only tell is a large poster of some sort. This group is engaged in a battle of sorts with some sturdy looking jock-types, who seem adamant that they finish up work on their masterpiece. When the artsy group finally hoist it, the part Kushina can make out reads: "WELCOME BACK, MI—" The last section is obscured by the largest pom poms she's ever seen.

Everyone seems poised for a festival of sorts. First day of school or not, the pulsing but organized crowds sitting, waiting, is unusual.

Flummoxed, Kushina decides against going down the staircase, into the waiting throng. Who knows what unique hazing ritual a rich international school like this would hold? She's seen enough popular soaps to know what happens, and if the pattern of clichés continues, she's not going to get the good end of the stick.

Feeling infinitely wise and self-congratulatory, Kushina shuffles back toward the hall where she'd seen the bathroom sign. She has to freshen up a bit, put her best foot forward for her first class.

Honestly, Kushina's not the high-flyer type. But the _sole reason_ she entered this school teaches first session: Senju Mito-Sensei—the woman is a revolutionary in her field, and she's going to be the one to benefit from the older woman's teaching. If Kushina's ever going to get out of her country village, see the world, _make something of herself_ , she wants no regrets. Few people ever left her village. But that's what Mito did, with style.

Psyching yourself up for something takes a lot of focus.

So Kushina misses the blonde figure running out of the men's, right across from her as she veers into the corner with the male and female bathrooms.

She's ready to crash into him, but the boy actually stops—with shocking reflexes—and mutters a quick "sorry", before turning on his heel to leave.

Kushina can't muster enough interest to inspect this agile fellow, so she's just hoisting open the door to the girl's bathrooms when a hand catches her elbow and she's forced to look back and appreciate another caricature of high school life in all its glory.

She does a double take.

Triple take.

Quadruple take.

Not like that. This is all against her will, mind you.

Kushina valiantly tugs forward and he insistently tugs back. "Um, let go," she says slowly, for his benefit. Inside, she's chanting _'psychopsychopsycho'_ on repeat.

The boy's face is all surprise and relief. His _eyes,_ though.

Kushina's brain does a cartwheel.

"You're Uzumaki Kushina!"

He's beautiful to behold, but clearly less impressive in act and deed. Yet something's odd. She narrows her eyes. He says her name the Japanese way.

 _'Is he Japanese? He really doesn't look it. Though I guess I'm not one to talk.'_

Kushina takes a step back, inching slowly this time so he knows she's not running away. She isn't over-hyping when she admits he looks the way every protagonist of a teen movie should, and it's not just her childhood friends' penchant for American sitcoms that tells her this guy looks like he belongs on the cover of some TV Guide for teens _and_ twenty-somethings women. He totes his six-foot frame, wide shoulders, baby-blues and cornsilk hair like he doesn't even _understand_ the blessing the high school gods have bestowed upon him.

All in all, Kushina guesses she should hate him _and_ harbor a small crush on him at the same time. But then he opens his mouth again, and she realizes romance is hopeless.

"My name's Namikaze Minato." His hand is out for the shake, long-digited and calloused. "I'm the one who's supposed to tour you around the school."

Oh. _That_ Minato.

Well, she can't do goody-goodies.

Nerds are fine, but it's the angst that's missing. Yes, many would disparage a teenage girl's choice in vampire men and werewolf consolation prizes. So sue her. Kushina likes a bit of Byronic hero, just like all girls her age.

"When do you want your tour? Now good? I'm free," Minato says, if a little breathlessly.

"You don't have to—" she starts, but is cut off by a loud roar. Like some wild beast escaped from the zoo.

The arm that swings at them is huge.

At least the size of a tree trunk huge. Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration, but Kushina reckons it's at least the size of Uncle Goro's six-year old persimmon tree. Unlike said tree, it's veined and muscly.

Hello hazing?

She stifles a shout and focuses on protecting her head against the imminent blow. A few students nearby slow their jaunts down the hall and cheer, baboon-style, at the action. There's several flailing pom-poms in her peripheral vision now, and several pink jackets and the smell of pot.

But Kushina notices none of these things.

She's two steps on her way to high-tailing it outta there when the fist connects with her nose.

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 **Tweet 05**

Spotted: AND TOUCHDOWN. Ya think suspension or expulsion's in the cards? What happens when you deck a new kid on their first day?

 **Reply:** at KonohaSpotter: Probably the old quarterback gets his position back.

 **Reply to Reply:** Nah. Minato hit back harder. Suspend _him._

 **:** Prove it troll.

 **:** Oh yeah? I have video footage, n00b. Uploading it after school.

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Kushina's dreams of going to first period are handily dashed. First because she blacks out for a good few minutes. Second because her mental prognosis is inefficient and highly dubious in nature.

"This might be a concussion."

Kushina blinks balefully. "From punching my nose? You're something, Doc." Except it comes out all funny from trying not to breath through the carefully bandaged appendage.

The nurse stares morosely back. He's an immaculate vision in white, in his immaculate, antiseptic-smelling office. "Well, I'm usually just the athletics assistant. I quit medical school halfway since the bills were too high and my adoptive mom died. And now I diagnose concussions. So, you know, I really pity your plight."

A knock at the door interrupts the awkward staring contest.

Minato pops his golden head in a second later.

"Sorry, Kabuto-sensei. I didn't know what to do since we're not allowed to make calls in school. I thought you could do a quick fix and call the ambulance."

Kabuto snorts. With his functioning nose. He's a prime example of a doctor that enjoyed acting insensitively to the world, Kushina notes sourly.

"I'm not a real doctor, Minato."

"You're as good as."

"Don't listen to him," Kabuto scoffs, pushing his glasses up onto his nose and looking longsuffering. "Minato's had two concussions on the field from playing football. Isn't quite right in the head."

"He does fine in school, doesn't he?" Kushina asks. The vice-principal had seemed so _effusive._

The nerd shrugs. "I'm on a scholarship, so I have to."

"You could avoid fights, is what a scholarship student ought to do."

For once, Kushina finds herself agreeing with this Kabuto nurse. "Who was that, anyway? That guy looked so _angry._ "

Minato has the gall to look embarrassed. "Oh? Jirobo? Old teammate."

"Six concussions," Kabuto mouths to her, and holds up his fingers for good measure.

"Look," the blonde boy digs inside of his back pockets and brings out a simple leather wallet. "It's not much, but at least let me take care of the medical fees and any other inconveniences…"

And lo, Minato's wallet is some sort of sacred relic. Inside is a wealth of credit cards in varying shades of gleaming platinum to onyx black.

"Let him," Kabuto urges unnecessarily. "Kid's uncle is a porn writer and makes millions."

Minato sputters and says something about how he'd "never touch Jiriaya's money!" while Kushina glares daggers at him. She hates rich kids, not on principle, but usually because their personalities sucked in moments like this.

"You've already apologized," Kushina mutters, finally. Her nose still stings, but—no matter how strange Kabuto is—his ointment and quick bandaging job _are_ improving things tremendously.

"And it's not really your fault," she finishes magnanimously. "I heard from your fan girls when you were out in the hallway. Something about a jealousy fit?"

"Jirobo's crazy," Kabuto agrees. "I diagnosed him."

"I told you to stop doing unnecessary research into student's lives," Minato sighs.

Kabuto's glasses gleam, and his fingers steeple like some mad scientist. "Oh, I know. But the software the school sets us up with is just _so_ irresistible. It's a whole different experience than googling."

A madhouse.

Kushina's entered a madhouse of a school.

She decides to hold her concussed head, or nose, or whatever, and make it all the way to a proper hospital, using a shiny cab hailed with Minato's shiny black card. Unfortunately, when she tells Minato this, he shoves a wad of twenties at her instead.

"Take it. I work part time," he mutters, not quite looking her in the eye. "I'm not lying when I say I never use those cards."

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Suzu: sorry for the delay and shorter chapter! My other stories were updated first, but truly I haven't abandoned this!


	4. L'Hopital and Murphy

**KLBlog**

Kunai Ladies here! It seems we gained some new followers. Kisses to all our fans. You know we're worth it!

I heard some of you have a thing for our school nurse? I mean-he's OKAY, but meh, we're sticklers for jocks. Why? It's like tradition, isn't it? Like Friday night lights, snorting pop rocks, and making out in the bleachers. Don't judge, m'kay?

XOXO.

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 **Asymptote Theory**

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 _\- L'Hopital et Murphie, s'il vous plait -_

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She plucks the worksheet from his drooping fingers.

"What's four times six?"

"Twenty-eight."

"Thirty-three plus thirty-seven?"

"Fifty."

A crisp new worksheet is placed in front of him. This one, instead of having SECTION: REMEDIAL stamped across the front, has SECTION: ADVANCED ANALYSIS.

"What's the limit of this? Yes, right here, printed. For your information, that smudge is our sad little printer's job of a square exponent. And that's a route of three right there."

The boy gives the page nary a squint before kicking back and dozing again.

"One fourth."

"Wrong again," she sing-songs.

He cracks open an eye.

" _You're_ wrong. L'Hopital's Rule."

Mito-sensei smiles, and takes the sheet from him. "Your gig is long up, Nara. Are you sure you won't consider graduating this year?"

"Don't have enough class attendance," Shikaku sighs mournfully. "I come, but they don't count it when I fall asleep. The system's rigged, I tell ya."

"Hm, I'll have a word with the principal. I think I could help you graduate this year. Provided you join the team we're assembling for the Math-a-thon."

"High school math is for losers," Shikaku assesses blandly. "And don't you guys need a girl?"

It's Mito's turn to sigh. "Even if we can't compete all the way to the finals, a full team of boys lets us enter the preliminaries."

"Prelims are for losers."

"There could be strong teams there. Last year we went up against the champs in the first round."

"That's a different rule. Murphy's, I think."

 _"Nara."_

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YOUTUBE . COM

 **WOW. school quarterbacks punch things**

[Insert Video]

Views: 204

 **Up Next:**

Wow. School QBs Punch Things – deadmou5 Remix

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 **Tweet 06**

Sorry not sorry. Click here for drama. You're welcome.

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Kushina resists being detained at the hospital with the tenacity of an ox. Because her slip from the school nurse has _"concussed?"_ written in large letters every three lines or so, the hospital staff are adamant about ferrying her through all the exams.

"The doctor will be in shortly," promises a portly woman with kind eyes. "Lie down for now. It'll help with the residual bleeding."

Kushina lies there on her crinkly roll of wax paper, covering the hard leather of the reclining chair. She feels a bit like a greasy barbeque wing, or a baked good, on the parchment. It could be a perfectly serviceable recliner if only someone has the good sense to remove the waxy paper. Aw, crap, that's probably the numbing agent talking. She's probably high as a kite, and doesn't know it.

So when a pale man in a lab coat slithers his way into the ajar door, and proceeds to fill up a fat needle with bright turquoise fluid, Kushina's a million miles away.

"This is the last time your insurance will cover this, Karin," he says in an oily way.

"Oh, I'm actually Kush—" Kushina starts, but then gets an eyeful of needle sticking into the white crook of her arm, and goes very still and silent. You know, as one does when seeing a needle of that size.

"Make sure you follow the regular protocol."

And without a backwards glance, the man slithers quickly away.

She feels nothing. Nothing except that she wishes he'd at least put a bandaid on it.

It is precisely twenty minutes later when another doctor (with a receding hairline, and locks less voluminous and shiny than that other raven-haired one) comes in, his shiny head buried in his clipboard.

"Are you _'Uzumaki, K'_?"

"That's Kushina," says Kushina peacefully, because she definitely _feels_ drugged up now.

"Well, the nurse will be here to take your heart rate shortly. See if your breathing and pupils seem fine. I'll come in again after."

And with that, this busy doctor also disappears.

Overall, Kushina learns that big city hospitals are terribly efficient. And then, she drifts peacefully off.

It's only after twenty more minutes that the portly nurse returns, grumbling something about doctors and impossible schedule. She finds Kushina very, very calm. More calm than most teenage girls with broken noses (admittedly rare).

In fact, when the nurse straps the armband on and gets ready to nudge Kushina awake more forcefully, the whole calmness routine disturbs her.

It is precisely four thirty pm in the afternoon when Uzumaki Kushina is strapped onto a defibrillator.

It is precisely four fifty pm in the afternoon when Uzumaki Kushina is pronounced dead.

After all, it's a very efficient hospital.

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 _tbc_


	5. You Can't Escape Bad Company

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 **Asymptote Theory**

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 _\- You can't escape bad company -_

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Jiraiya—better known as the Great Hermit Sage to his avid and most loyal readers—is not a strict, _dull_ adoptive parent. He's the fun, loose, _cool_ kind of parent. The sort that whisks a poor child from his dull life in a dull state institution in a dull city after his poor parents passed away. (Jiraiya has always told his bleeding-heart cousin to stay away from volunteering in Myanmar's malaria camps but nooooo. Rest in peace, Ol' Sport.)

So anyway—

When Uncle Extraordinaire rolls up to school in a gleaming, sleek chrome Bugatti Veyron, he's taken aback by his nephew's glum expression.

"Yo, your awesome uncle's here to pick you up. Look a little happier, why don't you."

The response is more glumness. Certainly it's not the look of grateful adoration Jiraiya was expecting. Minato's slugging his gym bag behind his back, shoulder extended. Jiraiya is _almost_ impressed by the number of high school girls poking their heads out behind the bushes or out of trash cans, trying to take photos with their iPhones. If the direction of their squeals isn't so apparent, Jiraiya might mistake their snaps to be of his sweet ride. But this is a snotty private school, with snotty private students. (Jiraiya is quite proud that Minato's smart enough to get in on merit.)

"Gee, somebody die or something? Or do you miss the US that much?"

Minato shakes his head as he gets into the car. Immediately, the sound of distant paparazzi phone cameras is replaced by the soothing hum of a 2.0-liter four cylinder turbocharged engine. Sweeter than ballad music. More mellow than Kenny G.

"Ahem," Jiraiya tries. "Wanna talk about it?"

A pause. Then—

"Coach M just put me on probation."

"For being too devilishly handsome, like your uncle?"

Jiraiya stops chortling at his own joke. Minato's growin' up. The blonde's stares have frightening accurate aim.

"I punched an old teammate. Most of the school has seen the video on YouTube now." The boy runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "There are even _remixes._ "

"Huh. They any good?"

"Kind of not the point."

Jiraiya shakes his head. Teenagers. So advanced, these days.

"Kuwahara?" the bushy-haired author says consolingly. "Had it coming, you know, after trying to swindle you on the field all sophomore year."

"No. It was Jirobo."

"Cripes. Tank Man himself?... Also had it coming," nods Jiraiya with finality. He puts the engine into gear and starts the sports car down the long school driveway.

He's halfway down the bend when his Bluetooth comes on. Jiraiya does a two-glance take at the dashboard.

"Wow, Minato. In my day, the principal herself didn't call about a probation. Tell me Tsunade-hime has finally fallen for me?"

"I don't lie." Minato examines the caller ID on the dashboard. "Pick up?"

"She's probably _desperate_ for me. Saw the new car and the light, at the same time." Jiraiya catches his nephew's dubious look, and pauses. "Okay, yes, yes. _I'll behave now._ You behave too, in case they're trying to suspend you now or something."

The call clicks on. Surround sound caresses their ears.

 _"Jiraiya?"_

"Hello, Hime. You're on Bugatti speaker so your lovely tones register better. I'm with my dearest darling nephew. Always the family man, you know me."

 _"Oh, Minato?"_

"I hope you're well, Ma'am," Minato says politely. "Did Coach call you?"

 _"Coach Ibiki? Nevermind him. Oh, actually… Where are you two right now?"_

"Not too far away, if you want to grab dinner tonight, Hime," warbles Jiraiya as he maneuvers down the road with more verve than before.

They can almost hear gagging noises on the other end. It's quickly stifled.

 _"… Well, actually, this might need to be settled over dinner."_

Minato is very glad the Bugatti's airbags are some of the best. The swerve they take into a suburban rose bush is too close for comfort. Minato thinks he sees a a mangy devil cat with an even mangier pink bow tumble out of the hedge and hiss something menacingly at the trespassers.

"C-Come again?" Jiraiya shouts, voice a bit hoarse.

" _I said,_ _drive safely, and when you're in one place where you won't kill your nephew in your stupidly expensive car, we'll talk!"_

"I heard a yes to dinner!" the white-haired writer shouts, but the line is already broken.

* * *

Jiraiya sprucing up for dinner is a very arduous thing. He has about thirty different suits (all identical design) to choose from, so he ends up picking the one laundered last Sunday. When he's finally coifed and cologne'd up for the occasion, the drive to the third best restaurant in town (certainly the one with the most Michelin stars), is fraught with traffic. After finally finding a suspiciously itchy-fingered valet to park his Bugatti, the famous author is displeased to find not one, but two people at the reservation table.

He doesn't whine, though. The Great Jiraiya is tasteful like that. He starts with a question.

"Why is _he_ here?"

"Hello to you too, Jiraiya."

"I mean, if it's an old school reunion, then sure." Jiraiya employs the side-eye next. "But this is our date!"

"Don't act stupid, _stupid_." Tsunade doesn't look up as she cuts viciously into her charbroiled steak, mostly as excuse to drink another gallon of red wine. "Orochimaru's on the school board."

"But you're a doctor," Jiraiya levies accusingly at their third member, though he sits down nonetheless. "Why are _you_ on the school board?"

"I'm rich. And I'm influential." Orochimaru shrugs, as the maître in the corner forces a poor waiter to take two more expensive wine bottles to their table, which they were only able to get in the first place thanks to Orochimaru's hospital connections.

"Well, _I've_ sold millions of volumes of literature! That's more aspirational for high school students!"

"You write porn," Tsunade deadpans past her sixth glass of pinot.

"So, why did you call us here, Tsunade?" Orochimaru looks at his wrist—his watch-less wrist. "I have samples to be dissecting."

"You two are the most unsupportive friends I've ever had! I'm having a career crisis," Principal Senju declares. Then, holding her glass as if it were her lifeline, she mutters, very flushed:

"There's been an _incident_."

"What incident?" Jiraiya probes.

"An _accident._ Con-hic-cerning a student. I need your advice on how to break it to the Advisory Board."

"You can tell me," Orochimaru says smoothly, eyebrow raised. "I may be on the Board of Directors, but I'm on your side, first."

"I know. That's why I called you two here. You two're my most trusted… _hic._ "

"So what is it?" Orochimaru snaps, eyes narrowing.

Tsunade goes very pale, and the alcohol seems to wear off all at once. "Well, just this afternoon—"

* * *

Minato shuffles in bed. His sheets have just the right amount of starch. The pillow is perfectly fluffed under his head. Yet, sleep continues to elude him.

 _Probation!_

He sounds like a child, probably. People got probation all the time. Successful, respected athletes! Hardworking, goodhearted people who were at the wrong place at the wrong time! Didn't ESPN just do a cover on unfair sports trials of the century. He tries very hard to convince himself of the weight of ESPN probative evidence in front of Coach, but all he can think of is Jirobo's spittle-encrusted snarl the moment before Minato's fist connected with gut. Minato's always tried to be above violence, but that had been as much anger as self defense.

So starting in the first home game is probably out. So is the season, if this is taken seriously by the higher-ups. And there were the larger consequences, too...

Minato doesn't live only for the game. But what he does live for is not disappointing his uncle, and teachers, and friends, and… everyone he meets, practically. Okay, he's a perfectionist _and_ a people pleaser. So sue him.

"I'm going to apologize properly to Uncle Jiraiya, as soon as he gets back from his dinner," Minato promises himself in the dark.

It's twelve fifteen am, and Minato fully expects the creak of the door downstairs to be Jiraiya coming back. But none of the lights turn on, and as Minato strains, listening to the dark night sounds in his Uncle's large house, he's surprised at the fast thump thumps of his own heart.

Maybe being back in Japan isn't a good idea. Aren't they always making horror movies about serial killers in suburban neighborhoods? He always knew his uncle kept too much (high value) junk in the house.

"Should have just stayed in the States…"

He doesn't expect a girl's voice to answer. The answer itself is also outrageous. "Agreed. Then I wouldn't be dead."

Maybe it _is_ a robber. Or worse, a fangirl.

It's Minato's turn to make a shifty noise in the night, probably disturbing the rats in the attic as he jumps about a mile in bed. It's undignified and cowardly, but you really can't blame a guy—when there's a radioactive girl on the other end of your bed. Was there a nuclear waste tragedy that he didn't hear about in the news?

Then, upon closer examination of her pale, somber face, he realizes a few things.

(1) It's the new girl from school.

(2) She's _glowing_.

(3) Glowing _and hovering_.

Doesn't take a genius to string things together.

"Just a dream," murmurs Minato. He is generally very good at controlling his emotions, the last few hours excluded. Bodhisattva-like peace washes over him when he realizes there's been no national calamity, nor is there a rabid, glow-in-the-dark fangirl who's found his house at long last.

And so Minato prepares to get back in bed and get some sleep. He'll worry anew about real-life problems in the morning—like how he's going to get into college on a merit scholarship now. Maybe try another extracurricular or two. Maybe a lemonade stand. He thinks he can put together an operationally efficient joint, one where people can drive up and get lemonade very quickly. ' _Get your Yellow in a Flash!'_ can be the jingle.

He's just working out the rest of the commercial lyrics when a very put-out voice screeches into his ear:

 _"Don't fall asleep!"_

He wishes his dreams weren't quite so lucid.

Minato rolls back over and puts the dream-pillow over his dream-ears. For a while, it's effective.

For a _short_ while.

"I'M HERE TO HAUNT YOU, DATTEBANE! HAVE SOME _MANNERS!"_

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.

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* * *

Suzu: Hurrah, she lives! Sort of? I thought the story summary clue was a "dead" giveaway. Har har, I'm sorry.

Since we're doing shorter chapters, I can do more frequent updates. But tell me what you think? Anyone guess this was where it was headed? :D


	6. Fact is Stranger Than Fiction

**KLBlog**

Kunai Ladies here! We've been SO lonely waiting for Mi-na-to to come to the fields to practice afterschool. Where on earth is that boy? Well, at least hearing your feedback really perked us up. Thanks, all!

You know what would perk us up even more? Having dates to the upcoming dance! We think Minato'll be free for Homecoming, now that rumor has it he's not playing in the season opener.

Fact or Fiction? If fact, then we're sad and happy at the same time!

XOXO.

* * *

.

 **Asymptote Theory**

.

 _\- Fact is stranger than fiction -_

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* * *

The girl in spectral form is some sort of special punishment. Minato has the patience of a saint (says his friends) and the tenacity of a demon (says his enemies), so he's waiting it out. Curled on his once-comfortable bed, he considers pinching himself. However, he'd rather not give this specter the satisfaction.

She—the new girl, Kushina, right?—is charting a mile a minute, yammering into his ear, and raging her translucent fists through his back. She only pauses to inspect his bookshelf and ask what movies he has and if they can play his old X-Box.

Minato has a lot of qualms about the situation—but the final straw is probably when Kushina floats over to the bookshelf and starts narrating the titles.

"Metamorphosis, Ovid… Perpetual Peace, Kant… Two Towers, Tolkien… _gee_ , nerd, read some stuff your own age."

Minato's good taste in sophisticated, moral literature prompts him to forgive her.

" _Oooh!_ Twenty Ways to Be on Top… of Quantum Physics. Wow. Nope. Why haven't I found your naughty stash yet?"

Ah, yes. There's a million naughty things around the house. But his room? He's vowed to sooner eat his prized Raiders hat than have someone insinuate he takes after his uncle. Young Minato took the vow after he and Uncle Jiraiya got banned from seven-year old Minato's favorite water park.

Kushina floats back over. "Maybe stashed under your bed?" A spectral head disappears below his mattress. "Guys hide stuff here, yeah?"

This is an opportune moment for Minato to examine his dream. The image of his bedroom, the soft crinkle of his sheets as he curls his fingers— _all of this is real enough_. However, he can't fathom their coexistence with the glowing girl whose strands of previously crimson hair are now a faded, glowing red. Like fine-spun fire, pooled onto his beige carpet. Admittedly, very good to look at. _Huh._

"Crazy…" Minato sits up and rakes a hand through his bedhead. "What's _wrong_ with me."

Dream-Kushina lifts her head as well and stares him down with creepy widened eyeballs.

"Nothing's wrong with _you,_ " she sniffs. " _I'm_ the one who's dead."

"Ghosts aren't real," Minato explains patiently.

In response, the girl's eyes go almost incandescent. He's scared for a second that this'll turn into a proper haunting, and he's about to go get that old crucible Jiraiya keeps for his nun series. But then the rest of her goes red, like a tomato, and she's sputtering again.

"Call me _ectoplasm_ for all I care! Just believe me that I exist!"

"Um. We'll confirm in the morning," he says delicately.

Minato rumples his sheets and prepares to sleep again.

There's desperation lacing her voice now. "W-Wait! Here's how it happened! I—I went to the hospital with your stinking wad of bills."

"My brain is supplying the information to fuel this dream," he explains.

"They ran tests, told me my nose was broken, then gave me a bunch of weird drugs…"

Minato stops mid-rumple. "Konoha Municipal Hospital?"

"Konoha _Research_ Hospital."

"My uncle goes there. Has an old friend who's a head doctor. My brain—"

"Your big, impossibly stupid brain is _not_ supplying this." Kushina chops a pale hand clear through Minato's head. "All I wanted in death was someone easier to convince, but noooo. I'm stuck with this unbeliever."

Minato tells himself he is not peeved, as the pouting Kushina continues.

"Look, Nerd, I'll cut you a deal. _At least_ help me find another person to haunt. Someone who can see me, and preferably with at least half a brain."

He's a bit offended. A tiny bit. Being a people-pleaser may also include being good enough for dream-ghost-things.

"What's wrong with me?"

"You think you're dreaming. Plus, I can't do goody-goody nerds," Kushina says, blunt as a hammer. She makes a frustrated sound to the heavens, and shakes her fists. "Why did you have to stop me in the hall?! I could have dodged that stupid Jirobo entirely!"

Minato thinks this is all a bit dramatic. For a dream, that is. Is this his bottled teenage angst that should have hit during puberty, manifesting itself five years late?

"Why? _Why me?_ I died because you couldn't fight your old teammate like a man."

Minato doesn't have the heart to counter this point.

"And even your stupid fangir—"

 _THUMP!_

The sound is from below. It's followed by a series of crashes. It sounds suspiciously like Uncle Jiraiya's prized antique collection being broken to smithereens.

Minato's halfway down the stairs when Kushina's ghostly form passes through him. It's strangely cool, but not unpleasant. Then, he gets a faceful of a spectral mouth, loud and gaping, as she holds her arms wide open on the bottom-most steps.

"WAIT! It could be a burglar! People back home warned me about city heathens!"

She makes it sound like all city residents are voyeurs or burglars. Minato lets this slide. He's smart enough to not open his mouth, because the fleeting sound of padding feet is indeed suspicious.

"I'll do lookout."

Without waiting for him, she floats away, through the wall. Her screeching carries over, clear.

"BURGLAR! BURGLAR! HE'S NEXT TO SOME UGLY BROKEN TOAD STATUES!"

This is the strangest dream Minato's had in a good while, but even if it's a dream, Minato's gotta take vengeance for Uncle Jiraiya's collection of ceramic toads.

And so, brandishing a thick thesaurus (which flutters with all the stickies his Uncle keeps on questionable words used in his novels), Minato pads silently over in the dark. Kushina's weird glow lights the way.

The burglar doesn't stand a chance. One twist, one hit, and Minato's rendered the figure unconscious. He cuffs the feet with two very large, threadbare tea towels. All the while, Kushina's floating by, screaming for justice, shouting obscenities for which Minato can think of no synonyms, even from the thesaurus he'd just used to clobber the robber.

Together, they examine the crumpled figure. Minato can't help but think that the floral pattern tea towels look ridiculous, with the man's black and grey hounds tooth shirt. A bit of long pale hair pokes out from under the black ski mask.

"Accumulating good deeds might be my purpose in death," hums Kushina.

Minato stops trying to tug on the ski mask and eyes his companion incredulously.

"And then I'll be reincarnated as a dolphin. This is _very_ good."

"No," concludes Minato. "This is very _bad_."

Kushina is happily sticking her hand through the burglar's torso and making rude gestures over his face.

"Oh? Why bad?"

"Because," he sighs as he finally unmasks a familiar face and simultaneously hears a car pull into the driveway. "This may not be a dream after all."

.

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	7. If You Can't Find a Silver Lining

_._

 _'Twas the night before classes_

 _And all through the house_

 _Not a creature was stirring_

 _Not even a..._

* * *

.

 **Asymptote Theory**

.

 _\- If you can't find a silver lining, you're not looking hard enough -_

.

.

* * *

"Don't touch him," warns Kushina. "Might have _rabies."_

"One can't be too careful," agrees Minato, and prods a toe at the unconscious Inoichi Yamanaka.

The pale blond robber drools slightly onto his ski mask, and Minato peels the thing off fully with brief horror (who knows where Inoichi's mouth has been, and what it's picked up, rabies or not). This is bad. This is very, very bad.

He clutches his brain and wills it to think of solutions.

 _'Maybe hide the toothpaste? A girl's gonna haunt your room, and strawberry's not very manly.'_

He's going insane. Minato—once-genius according to MENSA and four other aptitude tests—has not a single wisp of an idea to help the situation. The Situation © consists of the broken toad antiques, the passed out boy on the floor, and the questionably bona-fide ghost beside him. And the lingering, stubborn feelings of not getting to play football.

Luckily, Uncle Jiraiya's still outside scuffling in the driveway. Minato swears he hears him singing sad love songs at the old maple tree in the yard. Something reminiscent of Cher's hit classic, Believe.

"Inoichi goes to our school," affirms Minato. "But why would—"

"Who knows?" Kushina sniffs. "He's _gross._ That guy called me 'babe' and threw his balls at me."

Minato pauses to throw something too: _side-eye_.

Kushina dims appropriately.

"Well, good thing we caught him," she adds. "I've always liked CSI, but this has been almost as good. Does your uncle keep handcuffs?"

Minato thankfully doesn't need to digest the disturbing mental image for long. A peal of lightning crackles in the distance. The boom of thunder follows, and the whole house seems to sway. Then, like a pale blond Dracula from the coffin, Yamanaka Inoichi rises from the floor, looking like he'd awoken from a long sleep.

"Yo Minato."

Inoichi's little wave is full of it. Minato contains the urge to smack something. But he's learned discipline from many years of sports. And living with Uncle Jiraiya. Mostly the latter.

"Hi," deadpans Minato, like Inoichi hadn't just broken in and entered his home or anything.

Inoichi swivels to stare penetratingly away from his old classmate. His gaze locks on Kushina.

"Dude," Inoichi looks impressed. "There's a hot girl haunting you. You know that?"

Kushina freezes, which isn't very noticeable from her normal hover. But her eyes go huge and scary like every ghost movie worth its salt.

Inoichi yelps.

"Excuse me?" Minato says as lightly as he can muster.

He's had Inoichi as a classmate for years. There are a lot of questionable things that spew from Inoichi's mouth, but there're usually of little consequence. Not so today: Minato is quite interested in Yamanaka Inoichi's next words.

"Yeah, right there."

Inoichi's pointing finger is _dead on_ , or _on dead_ , alternatively.

"Huh," Inoichi scratches his drool-crusted chin as Kushina goes back to normal. "She looks familiar."

Minato turns to Kushina hopefully. "Perhaps you're _not_ a ghost? He can see you."

This is clearly the wrong thing, at the wrong time.

"He's lying," shouts Kushina, now glowing iridescent like a broken Rudolph rose at Christmas. "Minato, don't listen to him. Why didn't this guy notice when I snuck up on him earlier, huh? I don't know how or why he's saying this stuff, but he's OBVIOUSLY lying."

"Er," says Minato intelligently, turning back to Inoichi. He feels a bit like a mediator, with an angry ghost on one side and an underage burglar on the other.

Kushina loops her translucent arms around his. "Believe me! No one's been able to see me except you 'ttebane! You're SPECIAL, Minato! 'Cause you're the one who made me to die!"

Minato's not sure he wants to be special. This is rather new.

"Wait, I can explain!" Inoichi stares imploringly at Minato, and full-on grovels at his feet. "And, technically, you assaulted me, man. So you owe me one."

Minato's about to say something back. Something gentle, like: ' _You broke into my house and destroyed a net worth of $250,000 in antiques. I should sic this ghost on you._ '

But just then, Inoichi drops the ringer:

"L-Listen, I have experience with spirits—please! Tell your Uncle we're just hanging out! I promise to help you with your ghost problem!"

At this moment, the front door clicks and Uncle Jiraiya waltzes in, looking more sloshed than is probably legal for having driven home.

"Watch this, liar," Kushina fumes.

She hovers over to Jiraiya's face, steps her translucent canvas Converse onto his corporeal Italian leather boots, and proceeds to holler 'BOO' in his ear.

How uncreative, thinks Minato. But the effect is there.

"S-SHIT!" Jiraiya's eyes goggle wide and he clutches at his heart.

Kushina also yelps and jumps back three feet.

Jiraiya clambers through the anteroom and squints in the dark at his nephew.

"Man, you scared me, Minato! Gee, turn on some lights, will ya?"

"Uh."

"Woah…" Jiraiya has noticed Inoichi, in his wilted groveling position in front of his nephew. Minato clutches the ski mask behind his back.

"Is that a wasted teenager?" Jiraiya assesses, quite clinically. "I said no keggers until college, Minato."

"A hundred imaginary yen that Minato's the weepy-type of drunk," announces Kushina, unhelpfully.

Jiraiya sighs. "But ya gotta do what ya gotta do to fit into school. Slip ups happen, Minato. Your Uncle gets it, even as magnificent as I was in my prime. But dignity and honesty's always top priority, 'kay, Minato?"

And here, his uncle gives a little sniffle—in sorrow or pride, Minato doesn't want to know.

His first ever lie to Uncle Jiraiya feels horrid.

"We… just got back from a party. He just felt lightheaded."

Jiraiya looks into his nephew's downcast eyes, then peers at Inoichi's puddly ones, and harrumphs.

"Ah, to be young. Just call him an Uber and get his ass outta here. I'm headed to bed."

"Good date with Hime?" Minato asks, because even if his usual self wants nothing to do with his Uncle's masochistic love life, Minato's harboring _all_ the guilty feelings right now.

"Lots to think about," mutters Jiraiya. Indeed, the white-haired man looks preoccupied. "Lots…" He continues ambling into the house.

Minato takes a deep breath. The destroyed toad collection would have to be unveiled in the morning. And his own guilt would need to be absolved in this lifetime.

But this put things in perspective. Probation, detention, even suspension: those things didn't hold a candle to the now.

"I think Inoichi peed himself," says Kushina.

"Did not."

"Did _too!"_

"Please shut up."

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* * *

Suzu: Dearest intrepid readers: we'll pick up the pace of the plot next chapter! Because Minato and Kushina go to school!


	8. Some Myths Shouldn't Be Debunked

.

 **Asymptote Theory**

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\- Some myths shouldn't be debunked -

.

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* * *

The morning after Minato's last day of suspension dawns bright and cheerful. Birds sing. Clouds float. Butterflies flutter. You know, all that jazz.

One ghostly Uzumaki Kushina, however, musters all her fortitude for school.

She readies herself for much weeping and gnashing of teeth. She prepares her mind for black clothing and lamenting serenades. The girl had decided she wasn't quite ready to face a day at Konoha High, where people would likely have acknowledged her death. Kushina had already visited her aunt and uncle's home where she was staying in the city, and promptly come floating back to Minato's – demanding he let her stay with him because she was too sad to be with family. When he'd asked why she didn't go visit her immediate family, she'd said that she could only float as fast as she could normally, as a human, and it would take too long. Minato had found her tight-lipped to reveal any more. Nothing would budge her from haunting Minato either.

And so, Kushina waited until the day Minato's suspension was over, to finally emerge from his house's linen closet ( _we have a linen closet?_ Minato had said when Kushina had claimed it as her ghostly abode). But he did feel rather bad for her, and even tried to clean out some of the mothballs.

A somber, ghostly face follows a blond teen out the steps of the door.

"Are you sure you want to come?" Minato asks.

"You're gonna meet Inoichi, right?" she returns, gravely. "To revive me. So I'm coming with you."

Privately, Minato objects to the phrasing. Inoichi claimed he has experience in exorcising ghosts, or helping them pass on, rather than somehow bringing her back. Minato doesn't have the heart to tell her this, however. Now that he's come to accept that the apparition is not a dream, he's more interested in helping her find peace.

"We'll meet Inoichi at lunch," he affirms, walking to the side of the garage. There, next to a makeshift bike stand, he unhooks a battered yellow bike, peeling paint and all.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Kushina squints.

"I've never ridden with another person before. It might be cramped," Minato says apologetically. "But at least we don't have to worry about it being unsafe. Because you're already… you know…" He wisely stops.

" _That's not it._ Your uncle drives a sports car."

"We've been through this," Minato sighs. "His money isn't mine."

"Well, while _I can't wait_ for your fangirls to have a fit seeing you ride to school on this thing," she snorts. "School's like forty-five minutes away. _By car._ "

"Just get on." Minato's already folding back the kickstand.

Oddly, it turns out that ghost-Kushina slides right off the carriage of the bike when it's going forward. It's a gentle slide off, not a physical human's tumble. But still, Minato has to stop the bike several times after treading only a few feet.

"Hold on to me," he suggests.

She harrumphs and loops too ghostly arms around his midriff. Both of them try not to notice their new cuddly position.

"This is… uncomfortable," Kushina fidgets. "I can't do this for the entire ride."

"Won't be long," replies Minato. "I'm pretty fast."

Understatement of the _century._

.

.

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* * *

Vlog 01:

.

So as I was saying, the whole school's been taking bets on it. You'd think our football season would be lost, ruined, but Konoha's always been really good, to be honest. Our only rival's probably Kumo, and maybe Iwa, as a dark horse this year. So I wouldn't get your panties in a bunch over—

Oh! _Hey!_

Ta-da! There he is, by the cafeteria doors! Back from the dead, ladies and gents!

Hey!

You're on camera!

[Clambering noises]

Yo! _Minatoooo!_ Can't believe they suspended you, man!

Wai—wait! Don't ignore us! We're filming a documentar—

* * *

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.

.

As Minato parks his bike, Kushina eyes him morosely. "What?" he asks her, before they enter the building.

"You're unfair, you know that?"

"Unfair?"

The redhead ghost looks sullenly back. "Like, perfect people like you shouldn't exist. Your hair after… after that… is still perfect. And mine, for some reason, even though I'm a freakin' ghost, is—" And then she indicates her hair, which, mysteriously enough, looks a bit like a tousled eighties hairspray commercial gone wrong.

"It looks… spirited."

"If that's supposed to be a pun, I'm gonna punch you, pretty boy."

He frowns. "But you can't punch right now."

"Imma haunt you for the rest of your life."

The outdoor entrance into the cafeteria is relatively free of people, as the parking lot leads to the front and side doors. So, all in all, Minato riding his sad little bike to school like he was in a Fast and Furious movie turned out to have its perks.

Unfortunately, they're spotted quickly by some students on top of the second floor stairs overlooking the cafeteria.

"Why is that kid with the pale eyes filming a documentary about you?" Kushina asks as they're shoveling their way through a gathering pile of onlookers. Her ghostly red hair after the bike ride resembling a glowing troll doll's, and if anyone could have actually seen her, they'd probably keep their distance.

Minato is perfectly poker-faced as he swims through the hallway of people.

'Ignore it,' he mouths at her, before striding briskly to his locker, where he's unfortunately bombarded with a flood of people who've been alerted to his arrival. Some of them, he'd rather not see.

"Nice punch, Minato," a flaxen-haired man drawls. "You seen the remix music video yet?"

"Jirobo's been suspended for two weeks. Can't believe you made it back so quick," a tall, muscular jock says as he passes by.

"Minato! Can't believe you'd punch a teammate for a girl," whines one of the older Kunai Ladies.

"A dorky new girl," another adds.

This finally causes his poker-face to crack. Kushina doesn't even have time to be touched that it's on her account that he breaks his stone face. She's suddenly putting two and two together and realizing that something's _wrong._ _Horribly wrong._

"Minato!" Kushina shouts in alarm. She can tell by the flicker of his eyebrow that he's heard her when no one else in the crowded hallway can.

"That's…" Minato begins.

"That's what?" another Kunai Lady says suspiciously. "Don't tell me you've actually gone and made friends? Oh god, where is she? I'll have tell her a thing or two about this school."

Minato is about to turn to Kushina's increasingly pale face when the bell rings.

"Break it up, girls and boys," a deep voice notes over the bell. It's the calculus teacher, Professor Uchiha, whose face strikes fear into the most hardened seniors and whose fancy pHD in theoretical mathematics strikes fear into all the other teachers.

"It's time for class."

Minato figures that Kushina's not going to sit through a math lecture with the senior class. She'll probably doze, or float around school doing more interesting things. It's to his surprise that she sits demurely beside his desk, before floating over to one of the empty seats in the back. It's quite a small class that's in Mr. Uchiha's analytical calculus seminar, so there are many free seats.

He does his best to be attentive. Inside, Minato's a mess of questions. Did no one at school bother to tell the students what had happened to Kushina? Was there an announcement that just didn't make it out widely to the student body? Minato thinks of the joke he'd heard announced earlier by the Hyuuga – "back from the dead" – would they make the joke if they knew? Somehow, it felt rather unfair that Kushina was forgotten so quickly.

The bell rings, and Minato bolts out of his seat to get to the bottom of this new surprising find. Kushina's next to him quick as a heartbeat, likely read to pester him with her questions too.

"Namikaze, please stay behind. The rest of you are dismissed."

Minato whips around to where Professor Uchiha is waiting for him, his sallow eyes betraying no hint of emotion. The rest of the students trickle out, a few lingering as if to catch news of any new fault of Minato's, but then decide it's not worth it, with the Professor there too. Soon, it's just Minato, the Professor, and a hovering, impatient Kushina.

"What's his deal?" Kushina pouts angrily. "Did you not do your homework or something?"

The teacher's next words shock both of them.

"Girl. You seem familiar. What's your name?"

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* * *

 ** _Suzu:_** I've self-disciplined myself to not update my other stories until after my big ol' exam (yep, it's July, I _know_ ). But this has been in my computer for forever, and I wanted to do something fun (perhaps get the REAL plot moving at its precarious glacial pace). And yes, updates to stories that no one asked for is _fun._ :) hehe


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